


Out of love I made you a cake. (Also out of milk, eggs, flour, sugar, and vanilla.)

by estrella30



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 07:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2764631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estrella30/pseuds/estrella30
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>fic for the prompt: Nick wants to learn how to bake so that he can impress on a lad he met. He asks Harry for help, but insead of falling for his newfound lad, he falls for Harry. Harry falls right back at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of love I made you a cake. (Also out of milk, eggs, flour, sugar, and vanilla.)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [julgru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/julgru/gifts).



> for julgru!
> 
> Hi, babe! So I'm hoping you like this! FYI your prompts were AMAZING and I actually have about 4k written of another prompt that I wasn't able to finish in time. Once reveals are up I'll message you and ask you if it's all right if I finish it a little bit after the holidays.
> 
> The title is a quote from a book I've never read by Jarod Kintz. I have no idea what the book is about but the quote fit too perfectly not to use :) 
> 
> Thanks as always to my wonderful beta! Any remaining mistakes are completely my own.

*

 

All things considered, telling someone he’s a “fairly skilled baker” isn’t the worst thing Nick’s ever said while trying to impress a bloke. He’s a grown man after all, and he’s had his fair share of dates and shags. God knows he hasn’t got them all on his wit and personality alone. 

“I still think it’s ridiculous,” Daisy says, chin lifted high in the air. She seems a bit miffed that Nick said he’d chosen baking over cooking when Dan asked if he had any skills in the kitchen because baking is easier. Nick’s actually never seen her face this particular shade of red. “Baking is quite intensive, Grimmy. _Quite_.”

“I know, love,” says Nick. He pats Daisy’s hand and pretends not to react when Aimee giggles and stomps on his foot under the table. They’re all out having sushi for lunch - Daisy, Aimee, Gels, Harry, Ian and himself - and somehow, though Nick’s still not entirely sure why, the conversation has turned once again to Nick and his perpetual failures in dating. “I’m sure baking is quite hard.”

“Or you’re hoping it will _get_ someone quite hard,” Ian guffaws. Nick drops his head into his hands and groans. _This_ is the lot he chooses to spend his time with. Christ.

“ _No_ ,” Aimee hisses. Nick hears Ian yelp and the rest of the table burst into laughter as Aimee most likely smacks him across the back of the head. Nick doesn’t even need to look up to know exactly what’s happening. 

“Bad Ian. You’ve been hanging out with Harry too much if you think that shit’s funny,” Aimee says. “And you. Get away from my boyfriend. When do you go back on tour, anyway?” she asks. Nick looks up to find Aimee pointing a neon pink polished talon in Harry’s direction and Harry grinning innocently back at her. 

“Not for a _long_ time,” Harry says slowly. He catches Nick’s eye and winks. “Months, even. Ian and I have got plenty of time to hang out, isn’t that right, Ian?”

Aimee glares some more and Gels rolls her eyes and picks the bottle of wine up from the table to start topping off everyone’s glasses. Daisy is still pouting and Ian and Harry have their stupid heads bent together, whispering furiously and fist bumping like a pair of knobs. Nick loves them all so, so much. 

“Well if you need help with the baking thing you can always give me a ring,” says Gels. She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and nods in Daisy’s direction. “I’m fairly sure this one is blacklisting you.”

“That’s correct,” Daisy says primly. 

“But I’m around if you need,” Gels says. Nick nods. He truly doesn’t think it’s going to be much of an issue. You get some flour and sugar and find a recipe online. He’s sure he’s got mixing bowls someplace. How much harder can it be than dumping it all in a bowl and stirring it up before you pour it into a pan and bake it? Not that it makes him love her any less, but Nick’s fairly sure Daisy’s making this into far bigger of a deal than it needs to be. 

“I’m around too,” Harry adds. He kicks at Nick’s foot under the table, then hooks their ankles together and leaves them like that. “I mean, I could help if you need. As Aimee just pointed out I’m home for months and _months_ right now. Also I used to work at a bakery, so…”

“When you were fifteen!” Nick says, probably a bit too loudly for a sushi restaurant in the middle of the afternoon. Oh well. Fuck it. “You’re what now, sixteen and a half? Surely you don’t remember all the cookery secrets you learned.”

Harry narrows his eyes and moves his foot so it’s stomping directly on top of Nick’s toes. “I’m sure you’re fully aware I’m twenty right now, Nick Grimshaw. Or have you already started to lose your memory in your old age? It’s sad, innit,” he muses and taps a finger against his chin. Nick really, truly hates him. “They say the mind is the first to go.”

Nick holds up two middle fingers in Harry’s direction while the rest of the table laughs, and that’s it, really. Lunch goes on and no one speaks of his baking date again. 

*

It shouldn’t be this hard, Nick is convinced. He just - he’d texted Dan and told him he was going to bring dessert for their date the next night, figuring that baking a cake a day ahead would be more than enough time. He’d bake it and make sure it came out all right, then just bake another the day of and bring it with him on his date. 

Piece of, well, piece of cake, actually. 

It’s not that easy though. It’s not a piece of cake, or a piece of pie, or a piece of tart or souffle or whatever the fuck Daisy seems to effortlessly make whenever they have any kind of gathering whatsoever. 

This whole baking thing is a scam, Nick is convinced. It’s possible witchcraft is involved, because first he’d found a recipe online but when he went to print it out he apparently left the second sheet of paper at home and only purchased half the ingredients. He didn’t realize it until he was home though, and had set everything out on the counter when he realized what was missing, so it was back to the shops for eggs and milk and baking powder or soda or whatever the fuck he could find. 

He went back home for a second time, but now he was at least a bit more prepared. He had his ingredients and he dumped them all in the bowl and stirred it for two minutes or so then poured it into a pan. The batter looked a little lumpier than he remembers ever seeing, but he has to be honest, most of the time when he’s at Daisy’s and she shows him something she’s making before she puts it in the oven Nick isn’t really paying all that close attention. 

He’ll remember to do better next time. 

He sets the timer and takes a fast shower and by the time he’s done and fiddling with his hair the timer buzzes and he goes to the oven, excited to see how his cake came out. 

“Baking powder and baking soda are the same things, yeah?” Nick barks into his mobile when Gels picks up. He glares murderously at the pan that his inch-high, half-burnt, half-raw cake type thing is sitting in. Gels doesn’t answer, just starts laughing at him hysterically. 

Nick pokes the cake with a knife and batter oozes out of the center. What the _fuck_. 

“No, love, they’re not,” Gels says. 

Nick frowns. “Well how was I supposed to know that?”

“Well,” says Gels. Her voice is slow and overly patient. She sounds a bit like she’s talking to a toddler. Nick wants to kill her. “ _Usually_ , people who are baking can _read_. So when they see a _recipe_ they purchase the ingredients _needed_ and not--”

“Right. Yes. Fine,” Nick snaps. “Got it, thank you for your help.” 

He can still hear her giggling when he clicks off his phone. 

And all right. This is fine. He can do this. Nick leans his palms against the edge of the counter and stares at the cake. _Clearly_ this cake isn’t going to work, but that’s all right. This is what the practice day was for, wasn’t it? And although it seems like Gels isn’t going to be much of a help and Nick doesn’t _dare_ ring Daisy and ask for her assistance in any way, shape, or form, there was someone else who offered up their services and, well, Nick getting shagged after baking a nice cake is hanging in the balance. He’s barely proud at the best of times, but there are very few things Nick wouldn’t do if getting a shag is the reward at the end of it. 

_Hi! Are you around?_ Nick sends off to Harry, then takes the now cooled cake type muck in the pan and scrapes it into the bin. It’s a shame, really. It _smells_ all right at least. 

Harry answers back quick enough, just sending a simple, _Yep! What’s up?_

_Remember how you said you could help me bake something for my date when it came up?_

Harry’s answer takes a bit longer to come back this time, but when it does Nick can practically hear him laughing. 

_Yesssssss. Should I come now, or…_

Nick presses his lips together and huffs. He really can’t afford to be stroppy about this. Nick needs help and Harry had offered and it’s just. It’s fine. Harry will take the piss probably forever but luckily he mumbles a lot when he’s talking so people probably won’t hear him all that much anyway. A blessing in disguise, really. 

_Yes please_ Nick sends, then adds, _and bring baking powder! Apparently thats different from baking soda :/_

Nick doesn’t even need a message to know that wherever he is, Harry’s laughing at him. 

*

Harry gets to Nick’s less than an hour later with a huge, gleaming mixing bowl type thing under one arm and a bag of groceries in the other. He’s got all of his hair tucked under a dark grey beanie, the curly ends long enough to brush the shoulders of his black peacoat. He beams at Nick, a flash of gleaming white teeth as he snaps his gum and shoulders his way inside. 

“Fancy meeting you here,” Harry says. 

Nick rolls his eyes because honestly. Harry is such a complete knob.

He follows Harry into the kitchen, watching as Harry shrugs out of his coat and tosses it over the back of one of Nick’s kitchen chairs. The counters are a complete tip; Nick’s still got out all the dirty pans from the first cake attempt, and there’s flour and sugar dusted over every open surface. 

Harry plants his hands on his hips and whistles softly. “Wow.”

“Shut up.”

Harry turns and stares at Nick, face spreading into a wide grin. 

“No, but this is actually almost _impressive_. How badly did you fuck up that other cake?”

Nick sniffs and lifts his chin. “None of your business.”

“Mmhmm.” Harry shakes his head and bumps Nick out of the way with his hip, gathering all of Nick’s dirty utensils and ingredients and dumping them into either the sink or the bin. Nick goes to help but Harry just glares at him, warding him off with a mixing spoon and fine. Nick sniffs. If that’s how he wants to be about it. 

“So what were you up to today when I texted you?” Nick asks. He reaches over Harry’s head for two wine glasses in the cupboard. Harry ducks down to let Nick pass, busily cracking eggs into a bright red bowl Nick’s never seen before. Possibly Harry magicked it from that big bag of tricks he’s brought with him. 

“Nothing really. Out to lunch with Gem and then was going to head home and ring my mum,” Harry says. 

Nick laughs quietly. “The super exciting life of a mega popstar right there. Lunch with your sister and a phone call with your mum?”

He’s expecting Harry to take the bait and joke back but Harry just hums quietly instead, carefully measuring out sugar and flour and all sorts of things and adding them to different smaller bowls. Nick pours them both a glass of wine and leans back against the opposite counter, content to let Harry just make the damn cake for him. 

“Nothing much more exciting to do, really,” Harry finally says. He looks over his shoulder and gives Nick a quick smile, then rubs his cheek against his shoulder and turns back. “So your date is tomorrow night, yeah?” Harry asks casually. His voice is a little odd, almost _too_ casual sounding, but Nick figures he’s just hearing things and takes another sip of his wine. “What’s his name again? Dave?”

“Dan,” Nick corrects. He waits to see if Harry’s going to say anything else but he keeps quiet, choosing instead to beat the eggs he cracked into the bowl with a bit more vigor than Nick had used. Maybe that’s why his own cake turned out to be such crap. Harry’s really _banging_ his spoons and putting things down a lot more forcefully than Nick had when he tried to bake it himself. He’ll have to ask Daisy if this is a specific technique. 

“That’ll be nice,” Harry says tightly. Nick puts his glass down and crosses his arms over his chest, staring at the tense line of Harry’s back and the way he’s jabbing the numbers on the stove to set the temperature for the oven. “Remember--” Harry starts, then goes quiet instead of finishing whatever he was planning on saying. Nick licks his lips and waits. 

“Remember what?” Nick asks when it’s clear that Harry’s not going to say anything else on his own. 

“Nothing, just.” Harry spoons all of the batter into a square pan and then yanks the oven door open. He slides the pan in and kicks the oven closed with his foot, then turns around to look at Nick and says, “Remember when you did this for me?”

Nick feels his face scrunch up in confusion. Because he didn’t - he’s never baked a cake for anyone, he’s fairly sure. “I did this for you?” 

“Not exactly,” Harry says. He’s staring at Nick now and it’s jarring, almost. Nick always forgets just how much it is to have Harry’s attention focused directly at you and his stomach flutters, the palms of his hands going inexplicably damp. Harry’s watching Nick with bright green eyes, and Nick wishes he could understand what Harry’s clearly trying to tell him. He desperately wants to remember whatever it is that’s making Harry look at him this way.

“Harry, I--”

“Not a cake, a pie,” Harry finally says. He lets out a soft breath and looks down and away. “The spinach pie? I asked you for it and you made it,” Harry says quietly. “Remember?”

“Ahh.” Nick rubs a hand over his mouth because yes, the pie. The bloody spinach and filo pie Harry had asked Nick to make which took Nick fifty million hours to cook and three thousand pounds for the ingredients. He was so smitten with Harry back then, though it hadn’t mattered a tick. Nick would have done it all again if Harry had ever asked him. He’d have done it a billion times. 

“That was a bit different though,” Nick says quietly. He doesn’t add, _I was falling in love with you even back then_ because it’s been so long by this point. Too long. So much time and so many years have passed. Why would he bring up now the ridiculous crush he’s had on Harry since pretty much the first moment he laid eyes on him?

Nick doesn’t get the chance to say much of anything else anyway though, because Harry just nods, scratches his temple and pushes off the counter to grab his coat from Nick’s chair. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess,” he says softly. He looks up at Nick as he’s shrugging his arms into the sleeves, and wait, what? Where is he going?

“Where are you going?”

“Home. You’re all set here anyway.” Harry takes one last peek into the oven then nods to himself, turning back to Nick with a wide, bright, completely fake smile on his face. 

“I set the timer. Make sure you take the cake out the second it goes off, all right?”

“Harry, wait--”

“I set up a cooling rack. Let it cool all the way before you ice it. Or call Daisy to pass by,” Harry babbles. “I’m sure she can sift some powdered sugar on top and that’ll work too.”

He’s grabbing his things, shoving the mixer and the dirty bowl and all of his other spoons into a brown paper bag. Nick wants to stop him but he can barely figure out how. As it is, all he can manage to do is stand frozen with his mouth hanging open in confusion. 

“You’ll be brilliant,” Harry says. He finally stops moving to look at Nick and Nick’s chest goes tight at the expression on Harry’s face. His eyes are bright and his cheeks are flushed. He takes Nick’s face in his hands and kisses the corner of Nick’s mouth so gently Nick’s heart feels like it crumbles into dust. 

“Have fun on your date,” Harry says, voice slow and thick. He kisses Nick one last time and then he turns and walks away. Nick would try and stop him but he feels rooted in place, unable to do anything other than watch Harry leave.

 

*

Nick manages to finish up the cake after a quick google search to find out what the hell _sifting confectioners sugar_ means because honestly, he’s not a bloody mind reader. It appears that Harry left him a sifter though, which is a bonus, and he had a box of confectioners sugar in his cupboard somehow and when he’s finished even he has to say that the cake looks kind of amazing. 

Nick leaves it in the pan, sat on the counter for the night, and every time he goes into the kitchen he thinks about Harry. He thinks about Harry coming over and Harry making it. He thinks about Harry remembering the time Nick cooked for him and how Harry’s normally loose and easy voice went all tight and stuttery whenever he spoke of Nick’s date. He thinks about Harry’s eyes, and Harry’s face and Harry’s hands when he kissed Nick goodbye. He thinks about Harry’s mouth on his cheek, and the way Harry makes him feel, and the things Harry makes him want so very, very desperately. 

He goes to sleep that night thinking about Harry. Not Dan and not any of his other dates. Nothing but Harry.

*

The next day passes quickly and before Nick realizes the time he’s showering and shaving and doing his hair up for his date. He picks out his fanciest black shirt and leaves the top two buttons undone and pulls on dark skinny jeans and boots and his leather jacket. He covers the cake pan with a piece of foil and when he gets to the car he makes sure the cake is settled on the seat and that it’s not going to bounce around too much on the ride over. 

It doesn’t take long for Nick to get where he’s going, and then he’s turning off the car and walking up the walk and ringing the bell. He thinks for a second that he’s being daft - that he’s reading things wrong or cocking the whole thing up - but he can hear footsteps and then Harry muttering, “Wait a bloody second, I’m coming,” when Nick leans on the bell again and it’s worth it, every single question Nick had is answered when Harry opens the door and sees Nick standing there. 

“Nick?”

“Hiya, Harry.”

Harry licks his lips and looks past Nick, over his shoulder and out to the street. He’s clearly dressed to stay in - he’s in a sleeveless red flannel shirt and a pair of black track pants and his feet are bare. His hair is pulled back into a messy bun and Nick can see the crinkle at the corners of his eyes and a little red scratch by his throat he must have cut while shaving. 

Nick wants to kiss him so badly he can hardly breathe. 

“What are you doing here?” Harry asks. He steps back to let Nick inside but hovers by the door, as if Nick’s just stopped by and is going to head back out at any moment. Harry looks at the cake in Nick’s hands and snickers a little. “You should have taken it out of the pan and put it on a nice plate, you knob. Looks like crap in the pan like that. What will Doug think?”

Nick rolls his eyes. “It’s Dan, Harold, and I’m sure he won’t think anything seeing as how I cancelled our date for tonight.” Nick cocks his head to the side and pretends to scratch his head in thought. “Actually, he probably thinks I’m a complete arse for cancelling on him, if I’m being honest.” He looks up at Harry who’s watching him in confusion. “Oh well.”

“You--” Harry bites his bottom lip and twists the edges of his shirt in his hands. “You cancelled?”

“Yeah, I thought--” Nick shrugs. _Oh well_ he thinks to himself. _In for a penny and all that_.

“I thought it was a waste, you know? You making such a nice cake and then not getting to eat any of it.”

Harry shakes his head. “You didn’t have to do that,” he says softly. 

“I know,” Nick answers. He puts the cake pan down on Harry’s side table and walks over, cupping his hands under Harry’s elbows and holding him close. Harry sucks in a short breath - Nick can hear it - and when he looks at Nick his eyes are wide and hopeful. “I wanted to.”

“You did?” Harry breathes. 

“Yeah,” Nick admits. “I wanted it to be for you. I want - I’ve always wanted that.”

“Yeah?”

Nick nods. “Yeah. For like…” he thinks back to meeting Harry, and going out with him, and inviting him over for tea that night when he’d hoped in the back of his mind that something might happen between them. It didn’t happen then but Nick will be damned if he’s going to keep missing his chance. It might not have happened then but if Nick can somehow manage to get everything he’s hoped for, it’s going to maybe happen now. 

“For a really long time, actually,” Nick says softly. 

“Yeah, I--” Harry smiles at him, soft and warm, and wraps his arms around Nick’s waist. “Me too.”

They stare at each other dumbly for a second, before Harry looks away biting his lip and blushing. “If we’re being honest I hated the date you were going to go on so much I wanted to poison that cake,” Harry admits. Nick laughs and tucks his face against Harry’s neck. “I swear to god. I only helped because you’re my friend and I wanted to be nice but secretly I was hoping he’d choke on it.”

“God,” Nick says, his voice curling around a booming laugh. “You’re amazing, Harry Styles.”

Harry slides his hands up Nick’s back and tugs him in closer. Nick lifts his head from where he’s hidden his face against Harry’s shoulder and finds Harry watching him like he’s amazed that Nick’s here; like Nick could somehow be everything that Harry wants. It makes Nick’s chest go all fluttery. His breathing shivers and his hands shake and when he leans in and touches his mouth to Harry’s, Harry makes a soft, happy sound before kissing him back. 

“I’m a little dressed down for a fancy date tonight, Grimshaw,” Harry says after a minute of kissing. He blinks his eyes open slowly, and Nick’s so happy because Harry’s right there. He’s right here in front of Nick and Nick can’t stop the happiness from bubbling up from his chest. He kisses Harry again and again; on the mouth and cheek and the crown of his head. He’s got a feeling he’s not going to stop kissing Harry anytime soon. 

“Nah,” Nick says, grinning happily when Harry smiles back at him. “I think staying in will work out just fine.”

*

Harry never puts on anything nicer than his ratty flannel shirt and track pants, and Nick manages to dress down a bit by taking off his boots and untucking his shirt and messing up his hair a little. They order food and spread it out on the coffee table in Harry’s living room, Die Hard playing quietly on the telly. They sit on the floor, sharing a bottle of wine and spooning takeaway onto each other’s plates, talking and laughing and sat close enough that their knees are always touching, Harry’s hand a solid weight on Nick’s thigh. 

After dinner Nick gets the cake and shoves a fork into the corner, digging out a piece and stuffing it in Harry’s mouth. Harry squawks in surprise before sitting up on his knees and stealing the cake pan from Nick to get a forkful of his own. Neither of them get to actually eat the cake that much (though it does seem like it tastes quite nice) but both of them have bits of it stuck in their hair and on their clothes and all over the floor by the time they’re done. They’re sticky and breathless and smiling, and Nick has never ever been happier. 

He’s leaned back on his elbows when Harry crawls over him, hands on the floor by Nick’s hips. Harry smiles wickedly, pieces of hair falling out loose from his bun, and when he leans down and kisses Nick his mouth is warm and soft and tastes like wine and cake. Nick leans up, kisses him back, and thinks that he’s never had a better date in his life. 

 

-END-


End file.
